


An Intellectual Pursuit

by Magicnation



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Healing, Intense Emotional Episodes, Isolation/Making Friends, Lingering Grief, Post-Canon, Pride/Hubris, Therapy, painful memories
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-09
Updated: 2017-12-15
Packaged: 2019-02-12 09:56:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 16,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12956772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magicnation/pseuds/Magicnation
Summary: It's been more than a year since the Day of Story and Song, longer still since he lost his mother. Lucas is tired of pretending that he's okay.





	1. An Overdue Visit

**Author's Note:**

> Lucas pays a visit to a psychiatrist. He relives some painful experiences.  
> (Heads-up for this chapter: there is some second-grade bullying here. Just letting it be known. Rough angsty start but I promise it's not all like this.)

“You haven’t been in here before, Lucas,” Herman Bates remarks.

“I know, I know.” Lucas feels oddly naked without his lab coat on. Stiffly, he pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “I should have come in months ago, years ago. Brad recommended it several times, but…”

“It’s good that you’re here now,” says Neverwinter’s premier expert in the field of psychology and confidential associate of the Bureau of Benevolence even before the popular renaming of the organization. “Why don’t you have a seat?”

Lucas lifts a brow. “What, not going to have me lie down on a comfy couch, throw my hand despairingly over my face, and woefully regale you with juicy details of my personal drama?”

“Well,” Bates returns, “I have it on good authority that the couch is, in fact, quite comfortable. Feel free to lie down if you wish.” Lucas eyeballs the psychiatrist skeptically, finding a trace of amusement tugging at the corner of the old man’s mouth. Stone-faced, he seats himself on the plush red couch. 

“So, is this the part where I recount every moment of my childhood and you tell me that it all comes down to my deep-seated mommy issues?” Lucas quips sardonically.

“I don’t know, Lucas. Do you have mommy issues?” Bates asks, looking genuinely invested in Lucas’ response. The scientist can find no trace of judgement in the older man’s visage, and Lucas finds himself relaxing infinitesimally. Then he sighs and lays down on the couch. 

“Hell, I don’t know, you tell me. I might as well settle in, this’ll be a fucking ride.”

 

“Hey Mom, whatcha doin’?”

Maureen Miller looked up from the levitating mechanism she was adjusting to gaze at her eight-year-old son. Keen blue-gray eyes, his favorite little sweater-vest, the tousled mess of blonde hair she knew she told him to brush earlier this morning. He probably forgot it in favor of his extraplanar physics readings. 

“I’m trying to adjust the rotation of the hovering sphere in the motor. I think if we decrease the operating angular velocity by point eight six meters per second and adjust the rotational direction seventeen degrees left of center, it may become possible to control the rate of descent with some measure of precision.”

Little Lucas tilts his head. “Instead of having the box fall down at the top and go ker-plooey?”

She smiles fondly and nods. “Right. No more ker-plooey.”

The boy nods and leans forward to examine the exposed machinery. “If we use Ovnorim’s Second Variant of Feather Fall…”

 

“I knew that science ran in your family, but it sounds like your mother had a prominent role in your education,” Bates notes.

“Yeah,” Lucas says. “She tried to send me to public school for the first few years, but… well, I’m sure you can guess that I didn’t get along with the other kids. I was smarter than all of them combined and I damn well knew it. Wasn’t afraid to let everyone else know it, too. Course, a few of my bigger peers figured out that I wasn’t nearly so tough as I was brilliant, which led to a few… altercations. The last of which ended with several bruises and lacerations on my body and the east hall supply closet ravaged by an experimental spell I liked to call _‘Miller’s Flaming Tendrils.’_ Which was basically _Evard’s Black Tentacles_ but fiery and prone to small explosions when handled inexpertly.”

“You were homeschooled after that?”

“My mother figured we could try the socializing thing once my body had caught up with my brain a little bit.”

Bates adopts an expression of concern. “This… altercation. Would you be willing to describe it for me, or would that be too personal or upsetting?”

The inventor runs a hand through his hair, tousling the neatly-combed locks. “What the hell. We’ve got time.” 

“Really. We don’t have to discuss this if you don’t want to.”

Lucas looks at him sharply. “I’m not exactly losing sleep over a well-deserved whipping delivered to a couple of second-grade bullies who couldn’t disguise their fear of an opponent they didn’t understand.”

“Is that how you describe it to yourself?”

“How else would I describe it?” Lucas swings his legs off the couch and begins to pace furiously.

“You could always start from the beginning,” Bates suggests evenly.

With another glare, Lucas huffs and does just that.

 

“H-hey! Watch it!” The heels of seven-year-old Lucas’ feet scuffed noisily along the ground as Cody Brennan dragged him bodily into the janitor’s closet. Two of Brennan’s buddies were already waiting inside. “Let me go! I’m telling if you don’t!”

“You’re not gonna tell anything,” said Galthana Amaliadon, a ten-year-old half-elf who thought herself especially tough because she was older than most of her classmates. “If you do, we’re gon’ beat you up real bad.”

“Really bad,” Lucas corrected her automatically. Brennan cuffed him upside the head. “Shut up, twerp!” Lucas squirmed desperately in the larger boy’s grasp. Farkom Rotsteel, a dwarf and the only second-grader who was older than Galthana, walked over and put his hands on his hips impressively.

“You think you’re real smart, huh? Well guess what? No one cares.”

“Not true!”

“It is too true,” Galthana said. “You act like such a smarty-pants. But nobody likes you.”

“That’s not… that’s not true,” Lucas mumbled. He added something else the other children couldn’t quite make out.

“What was that? I didn’t hear you,” Rotsteel demanded.

“My mommy likes me,” Lucas whispered in defeat. The others laughed at him, began to heckle and tease. Lucas could hardly hear them over the shame that burned in his cheeks. His vision blurred unexpectedly, and then he felt wetness on his cheeks. Where were the adults? The teachers? The janitors, maybe? He knew school was technically out- he cursed himself for talking the librarian into letting him stay late for independent study- but surely someone must be around who could hear what was going on?

Brennan shook Lucas, cackling maniacally. “Look! Baby Lucas is crying for his mommy!”

“Little Lukey wants his mommy!”

“Cry for mommy, little baby!”

Part of Lucas’ brain knew that these taunts were as juvenile as they were logically unsound, but that part was drowned out by the part of his brain that began to burn with pain and fury.

“Stop it,” he ordered shakily, heat scorching his cheeks.

“Or what, baby?” Rotsteel taunted.

“Or I’ll make you all sorry!” Lucas screamed. 

Galthana made a fist and started pounding it into her palm. “I’d like to see you try,” she leered.

“I mean it! Let me go!” 

Brennan’s grip tightened on him instead. “What do you think, guys?”

“Not until… not until he promises to do our homework for the rest of the year!” Rotsteel declared.

“And do all of our classroom chores,” Galthana added.

“Yeah! All right, crybaby, what do you say?”

Unthinkable! He’d never have time for his reading on the principles of scrying in divination magicks if he agreed to take on the homework load of three other kids, even if it was insultingly easy! Not to mention letting the whole class see him doing these jerks’ chores. No way.

The grip on his arms tightened. “Say it, Miller.”

Pain was an effective motivator for the sheltered boy. “I’ll do your homework!”

“And our chores,” Galthana prompted.

“N-” Brennan pulled Lucas’ arm in a strange way, jerking it around in the socket. “Okay!” he bawled. “I’ll do your class chores.” He hated himself for crying, he hated himself for being so weak. He thought he was better than this, better than them-

“And call us ‘Master!’” Brennan exclaimed in a rare moment of inspiration.

Lucas got quiet. “Did you hear me, Miller-baby?” the other boy repeated. “Call us Master.”

“No.” His tone was firm for the first time since Brennan had accosted him in the hallway. 

Galthana shook her fist in his face, Rotsteel advanced menacingly toward the boy.

“We’re your masters now, smartypants. Say it.”

“Look, he’s crying again! You want your momma-”

“Stop talking about my mother!” Lucas shrieked, jerking his hands around in a strange pattern. 

“Or wha-”

There was a sudden whoosh as half-harnessed wild magic surged through the room, tearing open a burning rift in the floor. Burning tendrils emerged from the floor and began whipping about with abandon. Sometimes they cracked like whips, and tiny explosions were set off. In the small, enclosed space of the janitor’s closet, the effect was devastating. Heat caused bottles to shatter, flames burned down shelves and allowed containers to fall and spill. In seconds the children had abandoned Lucas and run for the door.

Lucas stood in the middle of the destruction, alone now, petrified for a moment by what he had wrought in a fit of anger. For a moment, he thought to himself that it made sense now why even his mother had been unsure about letting him study magic at so young an age. For all his brilliance, he couldn’t be trusted to control the frightening power he yearned to wield.  
No. No, he would get a handle on this. He steeled himself and tried to exert his will over the conjured monstrosity. He had no arcane focus, that was the problem; they were deemed far too risky and unpredictable in an elementary school environment. That was fine, he was the greatest child prodigy north of the Shining Sea-

A large hand, a grown-up’s hand, pulled him out of the burning closet. 

The details all blurred together after that.

 

Lucas stops pacing and flops back down on the couch, exhausted and glowering. Bates leans back in his chair, somber. 

“Oh my.”

“Yeah.”

Bates scribbles something on the page in front of him. “That’s quite hostile, for a group of second-graders.”

Lucas nods. “They seemed to think I had it coming.” He glances miserably at the clock on the wall. When can he leave? He is so very done with this shrink session.

“Do you think they had it coming?” Something about this question startles the arcanist.

“Had what coming? _Miller’s Flaming Tendrils?_ I- it was self-defense, right, and I didn’t really mean to do it, you know?”

“That’s not what I asked.”

Lucas’ jaw tightens. “You know what? I just remembered that I’ve a very important and time-sensitive errand to run.” He’s already on his feet and the doctor gets himself likewise. Lucas gives the man a perfunctory handshake. “Thank you for your time.”

Bates nods kindly. “Anytime. I do hope you’ll come back soon.”

“Hunh,” Lucas grunts as he walks out the door.


	2. A Friendly Prompt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucas isn't looking forward to another "shrink session," but maybe a push in the right direction will help get where he needs to be.

“I’m so glad you could join me for tea this afternoon, Lucas,” says Lucretia with a smile.

“It’s been a while,” he agrees as he settles into the chair across from her. The smell of cinnamon wafts through the air of the Goldcliff corner cafe.

“It’s been a busy year, hasn’t it?” she remarks with a smile, taking a sip of her tea. 

“That it has. You know this city has installed more elevators in the last six months than they have in the last six years?”

“Well, having to rebuild most of your multi-story buildings leaves a lot of room for renovations,” Lucretia wryly points out.

They talk for a while of the various rebuilding efforts in Goldcliff and elsewhere, comparing notes on infrastructure and the various bureaucrats they’ve had to deal with. It seems to have been ages since they were able to enjoy a companionable conversation without the threat of various breeds of cataclysm looming over the world about which only they were knowledgeable.

“Oh, and I think you and Barry need to have a nerd playdate some time,” Lucretia mentions. “He was examining your artificial animation processes and he had a lot to say on the matter that I didn’t quite understand.”

“Did he? I would love to collaborate with him on some new research I’ve been wanting to conduct. Tell him to pop over to the lab sometime this weekend and we’ll compare notes.”

“He’ll be delighted.” Lucretia looks out the window for a moment. There’s something on her mind, and a sudden awkwardness in her posture tells Lucas that it’s probably got to do with himself.

“Penny for your thoughts, Lucretia?”

“Hm? Oh, I’m sorry. I heard you paid Herman Bates a visit the other day.”

Lucas’ features harden. “Oh. Yeah, I did.”

“And… how did it go?”

It’s a while before Lucas answers. “It… I don’t know that we accomplished much.”

“No?”

“Well, he didn’t exactly tell me anything I didn’t already know. He didn’t really tell me anything at all! Just asked nonsense rhetorical questions about…” He trails off in irritation.

Lucretia looks at him knowingly. “Is that why you stormed out so abruptly?”

“You already knew how it went, didn’t you? Well, for the record, I didn’t storm. I was very polite. Also, aren’t those sessions supposed to be confidential?”

“They are, of course. I assure you no details were divulged regarding what you discussed in that room. I did ask Bates whether or not it went well.” She lifts an eyebrow mischievously. “Did you think it went well?”

He narrows his eyes at her for a moment, then lets out a chuckle. “Damn it, Lucretia, that’s not funny!”

“You laughed.”

“It was hilariously unfunny.”

“Then quit laughing and answer the question.”

She’s looking at him seriously and with such concern. “What do you want me to say, Lucretia? That I had nice peaceful journey of self-discovery and now my whole life is just peachy keen? I had one visit with a shrink, I didn’t become an old-ass tree-hugging monk!”

“Self-discovery is never a peaceful journey, Lucas, and old wounds don’t heal in a day.” Her voice is just sharp enough that he realizes she’s speaking from experience. The words chastise him duly and he gives her a sullen look across his blueberry scone.

“You’re going to tell me I should have another go, aren’t you?”

“I won’t pressure you; it’s your life story. But I will say that if nothing else, talking things out with someone helps us make sense of our own actions and those of others. And… that helps. More than you might expect.”

She tries to hide them, but he can see the ghosts of anguish that haunt her features. If therapy has helped to ease the worlds of hurt, the multiplanar burdens that Lucretia has had to bear across decades and centuries, then maybe he can find some solace for his more worldly pains.

“Okay,” Lucas says. “I’ll pay him another visit.”

 

A rift opens in the fabric of reality in the middle of Lucas’ main lab, depositing an otherworldly inhabitant in the young man’s presence.

“Hey, Barry,” he greets without turning around.

“Aw, c’mon, Lucas. You couldn’t even pretend to be impressed?”

“I’ve had more extraplanar visits and portals than a tailor has needles. Besides, you reapers have a distinctive weave signature.”

“As opposed to other types of beings, or individual to each of us?” Barry moves to Lucas’ shoulder, where he can watch what the blonde-haired arcanist is doing.

“Individual. Lup’s disruptions of the magical weave are sudden, half-wild. Kravitz’ are understated and elegant. Yours are more of an ordered chaos pattern.”

“Fascinating,” Barry remarks. “Lup’ll love that.”

“You know, she’s always teasing you for being a nerd, but she’s quite sharp herself.”

“Yeah, but she says she’s not a nerd because she ‘isn’t fucking weird about it.’ When I told her about our proposed research endeavour she rolled her eyes said, ‘Isn’t that just fucking great. Now it’ll be nerd-squared whenever you open your mouth.’” His Lup impression is a little squeaky.

“N-squared? Not 2N? How does she figure that?” 

“She figures better than Taako, his math is even more slapdash than hers,” Barry says with a laugh.

“That’s not reassuring.”

“Right?” Barry’s been watching Lucas poke around inside the primary cavity of an oblong robot for some time, taking note of the contents and how the other man manipulated them. “What are you using for the sensory feedback?”

“Modified verbal recorder-”

“Based on _Magic Mouth?_ "

“-yeah, composed of tessellating rotary pentagons and enchanted with a comprehensive _Interpret Surroundings_.”

“Shit, that’s genius,” Barry says.

“It is if it works,” Lucas amends. “New design, hasn’t been tested yet.”

Barry has numerous questions about what Lucas has done, and Lucas is happy to show him what has worked, what hasn’t, what’s still in the planning stage. In return, Lucas interrogates him for theories and expertise, especially in the necromantic field. Barry is possibly the plane’s best and brightest in taboo academia.

Several hours later, Barry’s stone of farspeech gives an insistent ring to a mellow rock tune. Lucas quirks a brow.

“Is that Blue Oyster Cult? ‘Don’t Fear the Reaper?’”

“Never let it be said that Kravitz lacks a sense of humor. Especially when Lup is his accomplice.”

Lucas laughs. “You should probably take that.”

“Yeah, just a sec.” Barry lifts the stone and ducks out of the room. “Kravitz? Yeah boss, I’m right here. No big, just doing research with Lucas Miller…”

Lucas busies himself compiling their collective theories until Barry gets back. “Sorry buddy, duty calls. I’ll come back tomorrow, maybe?”

“Um-no. I’ve got an, um, an appointment tomorrow,” Lucas answers. 

“Oh? Doctor’s appointment, or, like, meeting-with-heads-of-state appointment?”

“It’s, ah, definitely more like the former. I’ve got a lot of paperwork for the school to finish, too.”

“Cool, cool. I’ll let you know when I finish up with work and then when you’re done we can try out the personality modulator?”

“Sounds good,” Lucas says. “See you later.”

“See ya.”

 

Lucas flops down on the big, soft couch and lays himself flat. “Okay. I’m here. Let’s get this show on the road.”

Bates chuckles. “Not the greeting I was expecting, but I’m ready when you are. Where would you like to start?”

“Shit,” Lucas sighs. “I was hoping you’d know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like to imagine that the twins are as great at math as any other scientists, but they don't write down all of their steps and the ones they do write down are all over the paper instead of linear and orderly, so nobody can follow what they wrote and sometimes they can't even tell what they were doing and have to start over.


	3. A Contentious Interpretation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucas stares his fatal flaw in the face but can't yet see it.

Lucas scribbled some notes on crystal-to-crystal transmutation while his mother adjusted the skeleton of the prototype for the planar viewing apparatus, which they had decided to call the Cosmoscope. It wasn’t finished yet, but the theory was sound and the device was loosely projected to be completed within two or three years. 

Lucas was fourteen by this point, suddenly tall and gangly and resultantly even more socially awkward than he used to be. Only recently his voice had begun to crack in unfortunate places, and boy wasn’t that a delight. At his mother’s behest, he made every reasonable effort at socialization whenever they went planetside for errands, but the kids his age were all so slow. He had to explain everything he said two or three times, and they all looked at him like he had lobsters crawling out of his ears. Then they had the nerve to make fun of his glasses and his pimples and way he tripped over his own words when he got nervous. It was horrible. Adults were a little better, but the only one who really had any patience with him was his mother. It wasn’t so bad that way, he figured. It had always been the two of them against the world. He was proud of what they were able to accomplish, never minding the arbitrary rules and customs of the people below. 

There was no room in the planetside society for the work they’d done based off of the disc that let them peer into the Plane of Thought. Lucas didn’t spend much time on philosophy, but he did know that many people would consider the Millers to be cheaters, plagiarizers, a couple of arrogant fools playing at gods. Well, Lucas thought, that’s why leaders throughout history have withheld information from the plebeians. No use telling them what they won’t understand.

Later they made their way into the relatively small residence area of the floating lab, where they whipped up a passable meal of what might generously be considered chicken alfredo. They were competent chemists, but when it came to cooking they tended to be scatterbrained, clumsy and utterly lacking in presentation. In fact, those attributes quite characterized the rest of their housekeeping skills.

They sat down to their dinner and dug in hungrily, as it was rather late in the evening. Maureen quizzed her son over the history lesson he was to have read last night; she liked collaborating with Lucas, but he was still her son and she took his homeschooling very seriously. Even if he didn’t like studying classic Elven literature or memorizing historical battles, and insisted that he was never going to need to know these while they pioneered technological progress, those were the things he needed to know to graduate like any other young person in Faerûn.

Even if he insisted he wasn’t anything like any other young person in Faerûn.

“No one is quite like anyone else,” she told him peaceably.

“Oh, come on. Is this the ‘everyone is special’ shtick? Three years of public school and I heard enough of that for a lifetime.”

“But Lucas,” she said with a smile, “everyone is special. That’s just science.”

He wrinkled his nose. “Explain.”

“It’s like this: we have two contributing factors,” she began, pushing aside books and binders and pulling up a paper and pencil. “Nature and nurture. You’re familiar with those concepts?”

“Of course.”

“Well, nature says that when two people produce offspring, that offspring bears a unique combination of hereditary traits. So, fundamentally, every individual is different from the get-go. Now, of course, the exception to this rule is what?”

“Identical twins.”

“Precisely! Yet they, too, will become more unique from each other over time. That’s to do with nurture. Since both twins cannot inhabit the same space at the same time, they will always have different experiences. Those experiences will shape their memories, personalities and talents until they are quite distinctive people. Even those who can easily confound others into mistaking them will have their ideas and opinions independently of each other.”

“Okay,” said Lucas slowly. “I see what you’re saying. But that doesn’t make everybody special.”

“Doesn’t it?”

“Of course not! Special means a cut above the rest! It means to be extraordinary. Everybody isn’t extraordinary, or else the word would have no meaning! Most people are ordinary. They’re of ordinary talents and they lead ordinary lives and they’re be ordinarily unimportant.”

“Is that so?” Maureen asked with a lifted brow. “And into which category, pray tell, do you fall?”

The fact that she had to ask floored him. “Wh- why is that even a question? I’m a child prodigy born and raised in a floating lab where we collaborate with a woman who built an entire second moon to be the headquarters of her secret archaeology mission. I think that’s pretty extraordinary.”

“The circumstances, yes. But what about you? What makes you special?”

“Did you miss the child prodigy part?”

She clucked her tongue. “You’ve an unparalleled grasp of physics and arcana. One might call you a genius. But what about the bard who weaves songs so beautiful they can pacify a rampaging bugbear? Is he not a genius?” (Pacifying bugbears, Lucas pondered. Now there was a useful thought.) “Or the artist whose mural inspires pride and community in a city of disconnected people? Has he not performed the extraordinary?”

He blinked. “Well, I mean, yeah, those are pretty special things. But not everyone can do that. Most people will be farmers or clerks or burger flippers at fantasy Wendy’s and will accomplish nothing noteworthy in their entire lives.”

“Hm. So, you value achievement? Accomplishment?”

“What? Of course I do! What else is there?”

“One’s intentions? The impression they leave in the hearts of those they leave behind?” Her eyes were suddenly sad. Lucas wasn’t great at sussing out feelings or motivations, but he was pretty sure right then that when she said that, she was thinking of her own mortality and the day she would have to leave him on his own. 

He didn’t think for a second that everyone is special, but his mother seemed so distraught at the question of by what standard her legacy would be judged that he can’t bring himself to argue any further. He almost does, as a point of pride, but for once he lets it go. Instead he gets up and walks around the table to hug her. 

They stay that way for a little while.

 

“Well. That whole ‘other people are totally unremarkable’ thing. I’m sure that’s rich fodder for psychoanalysis, huh?” Lucas stares blankly at the ceiling, trying to pretend the hole in his chest isn’t aching as it attempts to swallow him up from the inside.

“It’s revealing, yes. May I ask what you think of that idea now?” Bates has made a lot of notes this session.

Lucas thinks before responding. “If I still thought that, I wouldn’t have opened a school. So, no, I don’t think that anymore.” He pauses. “Not usually, anyway.”

Bates is quiet, and Lucas knows he’s waiting for him to elaborate on that statement. “Look, the Day of Story and Song didn’t just cure me of cynicism, you know? And sure, people are all extra buddy-buddy now but they’re still people. They’re imperfect and they do dumb shit and most people… don’t do anything noteworthy.”

“I think those who fought on the Day of Story and Song might disagree with you. That happens to be most everyone, by the way.”

“Oh, finally weighing in, are you?” Lucas says tartly. “Besides, that’s the point, isn’t it? Everyone fought that day. It isn’t special. You know what was special? The Bureau of Balance fighters who deployed across the world to rally and defend its people. Dropping an elevator on a column of all-consuming darkness. The seven people from another realm who ran from the Hunger for a century, who had their incredible journey broadcast to all of creation and used the literal power of love to defeat the embodiment of apathy. That’s special. Bandwagon opposition to getting eaten? Bit less unique.”

Bates leans forward. “But you said it yourself, Lucas. It was the love of the Starblaster’s crew that ultimately led to the demise of the Hunger. That inspired everyone. It made us all better people, and gave us the strength to do the incredible. That’s what love does. And everyone has the power to love.”

Lucas squeezes his eyes shut for a moment. When they open, acid has crept into his voice. “Oh, so love is what makes someone special? Well, isn’t that just peachy. You know what? Forget this pity party. Let’s go and hug some goddamn trees in the park and sing Kumbaya.”

Bates sits back in his chair and reopens his notebook. “All right, let’s back up, then. You said you mostly believe in the individual worth of a person?”

“That’s- yeah, you could put it that way,” Lucas says. “You can’t teach somebody if you don’t address them as an individual and respect their unique talents.”

“So you’re espousing two different beliefs,” Bates summarizes. “The belief that everyone is individually valuable, and the belief that only a few are ‘special’ in terms of ability and achievement.”

Lucas doesn’t say anything.

“I wonder- does one of those beliefs have something to do with a certain Maureen Miller?”

Lucas’ jaw tightens, and he blinks furiously. “Oh, so you do think I have mommy issues.”

“That’s a vague term with a negative connotation. All I’m asking is for you to consider the impact by your family member and colleague on your moral stance.”

“Have you forgotten that I’m shit at philosophy?”

“No one is ‘shit’ at philosophy who takes the time to evaluate the nature of right and wrong and the place of those ideals in the universe.”

The younger man sits up on the armrest. “Huh. Well, points for relating existential questions to my academic profession.”

“Thank you.” The doctor courteously refrains from pointing out that his patient has somewhat misunderstood the philosophical definition of existentialism.

Lucas sneaks a peek at the clock. “Oh. I should get going, shouldn’t I.”

“Hm. It would appear so. Well,” Bates says as he rises, “I’m quite glad that you decided to come see me again. Shall I expect you more regularly?”

Lucas indulges in a moment of deep and profound soul-searching before nodding curtly. “Yeah. What the hell. The Bureau’s healthcare plan covers these sessions anyway.”

Bates laughs as he shakes the brilliant inventor’s hand. “The same time next week, then?”

“Yup.” 

“Oh, one more question, if I may.”

“What’s that?”

“The bugbears you mentioned. What became of them?”

Lucas colors. “Look, I was fourteen when I had that idea and I spent like a decade thinking it was revolutionary. I have... since seen the error of my ways.”

“Ah. Forgive my curiosity, but I couldn’t help asking. Until next time, Lucas.”

“Yeah, you too.”

Lucas walks out into the hallway and heads for the lobby. He opens the doors leading to the outside and realizes, with no small amount of surprise, that he finds himself a little lighter, the air a little sweeter than it was before he came.

Fascinating.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The shady business with the bugbear brainwashing was something I wanted to address in this fic, as it's something that is understandably upsetting for a lot of people. It's objectively a bad thing to do. But Lucas did it. Is Lucas a bad person? Opinions vary, but I've always asserted that a crime committed does not, necessarily, a villain make. Does Lucas himself agree with this?  
> We'll see.


	4. A Thundering Din

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The past is getting louder.

Barry slaps a screwdriver into Lucas’ outstretched palm. “So what got you into exploring artificial animation? You already had robots with personality-”

“Whose personalities were souls belonging to the Astral Plane.”

“Right. Is this just a way of replacing them?”

“Hm.” Lucas sticks his tongue out as he turns another screw into place. “There’s no replacing people like NO-3113, but yes. This is something of an endeavour to bring a set of intelligent lab hands into the world. Although that wasn’t NO-3113’s intended purpose at all.”

“And?”

“And what? There is no ‘and.’”

“Come on. You don’t think it’s been a little quiet around here lately?”

“NO-3113 left my service a long time ago, and I needed to let the bugbears go.”

“Yeah, of course,” Barry says quickly. “But, you know. I’m just saying, I know I’d be a bit lonely up here by myself all the time.”

“I enjoy the solitude,” Lucas says. His eyes have remained fixed on the metallic body the whole time. There’s an awkward silence before he diverts the issue to Barry. “What about you? When did you get into artificial animation?”

“Me? Well, there was the bit with the technomantic people-robots in the tiered city, that was pretty crazy, but we didn’t have much time to worry about the fundamental questions then, you know? What really got me thinking on it was... hm... you remember the pod I used to regrow my body?”

“I’ve heard about it.”

“Well, when I wasn’t following the goon squad- the Tres Horny Boys, because of course they did- around or worrying my head off about still not being able to find Lup, I had some time to think about the processes that the pod operated on. A lot of necromantic stuff, obviously. Between that and being a lich I kind of started thinking about what makes a person… a person. Is it the soul? It seems to be. 

“But what is a soul? Is it your personality? People’s personalities change, though- does your soul change, too? What about memories? How does the soul remember those things?”

“You’d think, now that you serve the Raven Queen, you might know the answer to more of those questions,” Lucas says.

“Her domain is death, but while we reapers do a lot of shepherding of souls… honestly, they just seem like people when they’re inside the Astral Plane. Which is a host of scientific questions all in itself.” Barry tilts his head as Lucas performs a little spell underneath a branched gizmo, which glows briefly before fading.

“That it is. So how did that lead to artificial animation?”

“It just kind of came up, I guess. Especially considering what I learned about your work in robotics? It got me thinking: if you can create a vessel for an intelligence, a personality, then all you have to do is put one in. So the only remaining question is how to create one.”

“Instead of stealing one.”

“Exactly!” Barry has tactfully refrained from mentioning that one of the most intriguing concepts related to soul memory was the idea that a soul could, when inside a robot body, partition her knowledge into the construct’s data banks. Less tactfully, he adds, “How did your doctor’s appointment go?”

It doesn’t seem possible, but Lucas avoids his eyes even more. “Well enough.”

“...okay?”

“Yep.”

Barry is utterly lost and a little concerned. “Um, not to pry, but… is everything alright?”

“Yes.”

“You’re not dying, are you? Just wondering.”

“It’s fine, Barry.”

“Because it’s cool if you’re dying. I’ll just take you over and we can even keep working on the animation stuff.”

“I’m okay, really.”

“If you insist. Here, hand me the polarity tuner and I’ll get started on the wiring.”

 

Lucas has grown accustomed to the psychiatrist’s office, a thought he would have found depressing only a few weeks ago. The abundance of neutral tones, lacquered wooden bookshelves, the long, soft, reddish couch that faces a cushy armchair of the same color and material. The soft light that filters in from the windows through closed venetian blinds. A few well-kept bonsai and philodendrons. 

“Good afternoon, Lucas.” The doctor greets him at the door, as always. “Shall we take a seat?”

“Well, it is customary.”

Bates laughs. “So it is. What’s on your mind today?”

 

Maureen had been listless for the last couple of years. The Cosmoscope had been built and should work, but they still only had one mirror for it, the emerald one which showed them the Plane of Thought. They had refocused their efforts on crystal-to-crystal transmutation, to no avail. The woman had never been so frustrated in her life. It worried Lucas to no end.

Well. That would all come to an end, today.

She was in the library when he found her, nose-deep in a book she’d read a hundred times looking for the same elusive answers. She couldn’t accept that there wasn’t a single wizard on this plane capable of such a level of transmutation. Lucas grinned and knocked to announce his presence.

“Hello, mother dearest. What’re you up to?”

She brightened visibly at the sound of his voice. “Oh, Lucas! How did the meeting go?”

“Meeting? Oh, with Dr. Flithwyn. No dice.”

He could see the disappointment on her face, so he hurriedly added, “I did bring you something, though.”

She gave him a playfully searching look. “Oh? And just what did you bring your poor old mother?”

“Nothing much. Just this little thing I like to call…” he pulled a nondescript little rock out of his coat pocket and brandished it triumphantly. “The Philosopher’s Stone! Boo-yah! But like, no big deal or whatever.”

Maureen’s jaw dropped. “Lucas… you’re joking. Oh, son of mine, you must be pulling your mama’s leg.”

He leaned forward excitedly and gave a conspiratorial whisper. “Want to test that theory?”

She clapped her hands over her mouth, then let out a peal of joy and threw her arms around his neck. “You- you really found it! Oh! Lucas!” She pulled back and cradled her son’s head in her hands. “This means we can finish the Cosmoscope!”

Lucas nodded as tears rolled down her cheeks. “Yeah, Mom. We can finish the Cosmoscope.”

 

_“It works! It finally works!”_

__

__

_“Woo-hoo! Revolutionizing science, that’s how the Millers roll! Mom, what’s it look like?” ___

____

____

_“It’s… it’s beautiful. No, wait. Wait…”_

_“Mom? Mom, what’s happening? Mom, answer me, please! MOM!”_

 

Four months later, Lucas was in hell.

The lab was covered in crystal. His mother was trapped inside a robot, inside a stalactite, and the Philosopher’s Stone was in her hand. Then NO-3113 started kicking shit open and Magnus-fucking-Burnsides walked over and lifted him up into the air, which, really fucking unnecessary.

_“Lucas?”_

__

__

_“Yeah?”_

_“Is your mother the robot?”_

_“...Something went wrong.”_

_“Yeah, okay.”_

 

He realizes he’s stopped talking. He can’t keep going; it’s a cacophony inside his head, echoing and rebounding until he can’t think straight.

_“I’m sorry, I just, I thought I could still save her, I thought I could defuse the situation myself, I thought-”_

He’d heard the term “drowning in sorrow” but he’s never felt it before, a liquid dead weight pressing on his chest, getting into his nostrils and pouring down his throat until he chokes.

_“Your mother is gone. Help us fix this.”_

It takes him a while to realize he’s sobbing. 

 

There’s a hollow feeling in his chest, a dullness, a slightly surreal veneer to his surroundings when Lucas stops crying. He sniffles and wipes off his cheeks pathetically. He wants to die, but he also wants to just lay here and do nothing for a solid year. He stares blankly at the ceiling and just… is.

He remembers that Bates is there, and he’s surprised that he can’t bring himself to be embarrassed. Instead, he curls in on himself a little, hugging his arms to his chest. It’s a small comfort.

There’s a silence that lasts just long enough. Bates prods him gently and compassionately. “You’ve been through a lot, Lucas.”

Lucas sniffles and nods. “That’s one way of putting it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lucas has been keeping a lot bottled up inside. He finally lets a little bit out.  
> If this is feeling a little too woeful for you so far, hang in there. The next two chapters are much more lively. I'm pretty sure there are no tears involved. Well, no more than you would expect at a summer camp, at least. ;)


	5. An Extreme Field Trip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A chaperone? Lucas? Who thought this was a good idea? Not him, that's for sure.  
> You know who would be a good chaperone? Angus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters going up today, because these were really fun to write.

Lucas isn’t sure how he got roped into being the chaperone for a school trip to Earl Merle’s Extreme Teen Adventures. But he’s here, taking a group of younger students to the meet-up and trying to keep them from maiming and killing one another, intentionally or accidentally. He might go crazy if it weren’t for the fortunate fact that one Angus McDonald is also on this trip. The kid is something of a second chaperone, confidently marshalling the rest of his classmates even as he “makes little goofs” with them. He’s very responsible and likes to ensure that instructions are followed to the letter. 

What really has Lucas worried, if he’s honest, is the fact that Merle is running this camp, which means Lucas will be seeing a lot of him for the next few weeks. They weren’t always allies in the past.

They finally arrive at the camp in an uproar, and Lucas finds himself desperately wishing for an aspirin. He shepherds the kids onto the grounds and up to the main building for check-in.

“Angus!” a gruff voice booms down the hall, startling some of the students. An old dwarf steps out and searches the teeming mass of pre-teens for the former BoB Seeker.

“Hello, sir!”

“I heard you were coming.” The earl looks him over; Angus has grown an inch or so and is threatening to become taller than him. “Surprised you didn’t want to spend your spring break consulting for the Goldcliff militia or some dorky bullshit.”

“Well, I hadn’t been to your camp yet, sir!”

“Oh, I know. It was starting to hurt my tender feelings.” Merle makes a show of pretending to wipe tears from his eyes. “You kids. Don’t give a thought to your poor elders anymore, do ya?” Angus stifles a giggle, and the cleric narrows his eyes at him. “Now, don’t be getting any funny ideas in your head, Angus, or-”

“Or you’ll use the Adamant Spanner, yes sir, I know.”

“Well, I wasn’t going to mention that in front of one of my camp counselors, but sure, let’s go with that.”

“Hang on,” Lucas interjects with concern. “What is this about an Adamant Spanner?”

Merle seems to notice him for the first time. “Oh, hey! What’s up, Dickhead?” He chuckles merrily at his own joke.

Lucas purses his lips. “Okay, first of all, that didn’t last once they took the stitches out.”

Merle laughs even harder. “Oh yeah? What does it say now?”

“It doesn’t- it doesn’t say anything!”

“Well c’mere, I can fix that for ya!”

“No!” Lucas holds his arm away, causing Merle’s laughs to intensify further into gut-busting guffaws.

“Shit, kid, you should see the look on your face!” Now he’s wiping real tears from his eyes. “Pan, it’s like that time Taako stole Angus’ nose!”

“I was really tired that night, sir!”

“Sure, sure. Look, why don’t I let you guys finish getting signed in, and I’ll see you all at dinner for the icebreaker?”

“Sounds good… Earl Merle?” Lucas is having a hard time uttering that title seriously.

The dwarf stands up to his full height with a shit-eating grin at the sound of it. “Ah, just plain old Merle is fine,” he says, his imperious tone confounding the humble words.

“See you later, Merle!” Angus farewells.

“Except you, kid.”

“Aw.”

“Nah, I’m just kidding.”

“Oh!”

“No, really, don’t call me that.”

And he leaves before either Angus or Lucas can make heads or tails of the situation.

 

The icebreaker starts out as a traditional round-the-campfire sort of gathering. The kids- about half of them from Lucas’ school- are all roasting hot dogs and making wiener jokes when Merle sidles over.

“Alright, everyone, listen up!” The gaggle of youngsters gradually hushes as the dwarf finds his seat, a few spots to the left of Lucas and Angus, and stands on top of it. “We’re all strangers, so obviously the first thing we need to do is make things very awkward.”

His audience titters at this statement.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m comedy gold. Now. In order for us to play this game, we’re all going to have to be super honest with each other. To help out the more timid among you-” he gives a wink and a flourish- “I cast _Zone of Truth_!”

A gentle tingling passes over the group, most of whom have heard of this spell but never been affected by it.

“Now that we’re all painfully honest, raise your hand if you know how to play our icebreaker game: Never Have I Ever!”

There are mixed groans and shouts, but almost everyone’s hands go up.

“Lots of you, okay. All right, those of you who don’t know how to play… well, it’s the fucking easiest game ever, you’ll figure it out. Let’s just get- oh, come on, Lucas,” he drawls, “stick out your fingers.”

“I’d rather not.”

“C’mon!”

“No thank you,” Lucas insists.

Merle narrows his eyes and taps the handle of something on his belt. Angus catches Lucas’ eye and mouths “Adamant Spanner.” The dwarf speaks a little louder. “It’s mandatory, buddy.”

Lucas looks at the rest of his students and tries not to sigh aloud. “All right.”

“Great! Now that that’s settled-you!” He turns to the halfling girl on his right. “Start us off!”

“Oh- okay?” she balks. “Um, never have I ever… seen a giant up close?”

“Never have I ever ridden a gryphon!”

“Never have I ever, um, gotten a splinter?”

Angus goes towards the end of the first pass with “Never have I ever fought a purple worm!”

“Now, Angus,” Merle says warningly, “was that targeting?”

Angus colors. “Oh! No sir! I was just- whoops,” he mutters, ears pink.

“Nah, it’s cool, kiddo. Your turn, Lucas.”

Lucas turns to meet the dwarf’s eyes. Deliberately, he intones, “Never have I ever hit on a plant.” 

Raucous laughter erupts from the assembly, and one look at the dwarf tells Lucas the gravity of what he’s done. He rubs the back of his neck uncomfortably. “Well, I was going to go with ‘Never have I ever played Never Have I Ever’ but I didn’t want to drag everybody down.”

Merle steels his gaze, ignoring the renewed snickering of the children. “So, is that how we’re going to play, Mr. Miller?”

Lucas knows a challenge when he hears one. He straightens himself up and affects a mockingly imperious air. “Ah, just plain Lucas is fine.”

As the kids double over in laughter, Merle glares competitively. “Alright, big shot, you’re on.”

When Merle’s turn comes up, he shoots off with, “Never have I ever built a vore elevator.”

On Lucas’ next go, he retaliates. “Never have I ever grown a plant appendage, which is extra weird because I have this creepy thing for plants.”

“Never have I ever almost crystallized the Material Plane!”

“Never have I ever sewn swear words into somebody’s skin!”

“Never have I ever-”

“Wait, Merle, you put down your last finger seven people ago!” 

The dwarf looks down. “Oh yeah. Shit. Guess that’s what happens when you’ve seen it all and done it all.”

“No! Keep going!” shouts Allarie Vase, a half-elf student of Lucas’.

“Yeah!”

“Face-off!”

“Oh, please do, sirs!” Angus implores.

Merle shoots a triumphant look at Lucas. “Never have I ever,” Merle continues, “conducted illicit research on a Grand Relic.”

“Of course not,” Lucas replies, “because never have I ever created a Grand Relic.”

“Hang on,” whispers Allarie to Angus. “How do we know when one of them wins?”

“When one of them gives up,” Angus answers.

“Never have I ever made myself a chocolate syrup and egg sandwich!”

“Who told you about that? Was it Barry? Never have I ever robbed a bank!”

“It was totally in their best interests! Heh, heh. Get it? Ahem. Never have I ever…”

 

Once Lucas has gotten his campers more or less quietly settled in their bungalows, he makes his way over to Merle’s office, where he has politely accepted the offer of a drink and a rundown of tomorrow’s schedule.

Merle’s work space is situated in a large cabin a few dozen feet from the mess tent, and a tangle of growth surrounds and covers the buildings. The interior doesn’t look much different, especially the office itself, which is brimming over with potted plants, over half of which have considerable medicinal value.

Lucas knocks on the open door. “Merle?”

“Come on in.”

The dwarf has his feet up on the desk, sitting in an adjustable chair at its highest setting. “I don’t personally lead this camp all the time,” Merle says by way of explanation, “and some of my underlings are a bit taller than me.”

“Mm.” Lucas takes a sit in front of the cleric’s desk. Merle reaches behind him for a bottle and a pair of glasses. “Hope you like bourbon, that’s all I’ve got here.”

Lucas doesn’t actually drink much, and prefers wine when he must, but frankly there’s a myriad of reasons why he doesn’t dare to refuse Merle. “That’s fine, thank you.”

Merle slides him a small crystal glass half-filled with bourbon. Lucas is expecting a quantity more like a whiskey shot, but this is about three times that. He’s very concerned now.

Merle snorts. “What’s the problem, kid? Don’t know how to use a cup?”

“Ah-no, it’s fine.” Suddenly feeling like an ignoramus and a poser, trying to drink liquor with a dwarf, Lucas grabs the glass and pounds it back.

It’s instant fire in his throat and he just manages to swallow, moving that fire to a blaze in his belly. Lucas sputters and coughs, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes. Merle nearly falls out of his chair laughing, holding on to his desk for balance.

“H- holy shit, kid,” he wheezes, “this isn’t a Pan-forsaken bar, heh-” He clutches his ribs. “A man pours you a nip, you nurse that sonofabitch. Fuck-”

Lucas blushes to the roots, wiping the liquor-induced wetness that had dribbled from his eyes. He fights down the tremble of humiliation that threatens his composure.

Merle looks up and sees how upset Lucas is. “Oh, shit. Look, don’t sweat it, kid, just- here.” He takes Lucas’ glass and refills it to the brim with water. “Drink that, or you’ll have the mother of all headaches in the morning.” 

Lucas nods and sips slowly at the offering, wishing that it didn’t give away his shaky hands. 

“You don’t drink much, do you? You could have just said so.”

“I...” Lucas forces himself to look the dwarf in the eyes. “I didn’t want to be rude.”

“Wasting three fingers of bourbon, now that’s rude,” Merle corrects. “Being a lightweight is a life choice. Well, it’s poor constitution, but I consider that to be a life choice.”

Wanting to defend his pride but deciding not to pick a fight with one of the seven birds who saved his plane of existence, Lucas clears his throat seriously. “You wanted to discuss tomorrow’s schedule?”

“Oh yeah. You’ve met the other counselors? Well, each of you will be assigned to a different activity throughout the day. Early morning, you’ve got the trust exercises, then you’ll be a glorified lunch monitor about noon-ish. After that, you’ll be helping out in the Magic Item Use course, where you mostly just need to make sure they don’t point wands at each other or some shit. Okay, that’s a lie, you’re going to be getting really hands on with those monkeys and teaching them about identification and combat versus utility applications. You’re actually on this one all week, I’m eighty-six percent sure the lesson plans are still in the room. Okay, seventy-eight. They’re probably still in the room. After that, it’s just dinner and obligatory summer-camp fireside time. Got it?”

Lucas nods. “Got it.” He waits for Merle to add something, but instead the dwarf seems to be awaiting his input. “Is… that all you brought me in here for? I thought all the counselors got their schedules in the pre-dawn briefing tomorrow.”

“The other counselors didn’t bring a smartmouth boy detective with them. Or tamper with dangerous magicks resulting in us taking turns doing grudging emergency first aid on each other.” Merle holds up his tree arm, and Lucas winces. “Relax. I’m not mad about it, not anymore. I’m just saying, I thought maybe we should have a one-on-one talk before this whole thing gets crazy, because believe me, shit hits the fan pretty quickly at this camp.”

“I’m sorry about your arm, Merle. Really.”

“Well thanks, dickhead, but I’m not here for an angsty heart-to-heart.”

“Okay?”

Merle sighs. “Look, the fun thing about _Zone of Truth_ is that if I try I can tell even more about somebody than what they’re saying. And I don’t want you to think that we’re enemies or that you have to walk a wire in front of me. I mean you do a little, because I’m currently your boss and also a nobleman of good standing.”

“I thought ‘earl’ just replaced the governor title?”

Merle ignores him pointedly. “But I’m not looking for a reason to complain to Lord Sterling or tattle to Lucretia or rat you out to Kravitz or actually I’m starting to realize why you might be afraid of me.”

“I’m not afraid!” Lucas protests. “-of you,” he adds belatedly.

Merle raises an eyebrow. “Oh? Well, it ain’t me you have to convince of that.”


	6. A Refurbished Train

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angus wins at adventures, Lucas challenges Merle, the boy detective has a question.

The last day of camp is given over to a mock adventure wherein the campers first complete an evaluation of the major skills learned over the week: team dynamics, combat principles, magic and magic item use, and how to wheedle more money out of one’s employers. From there they are divided into groups of 5 with roughly equal overall skill. Due to an odd number of campers, Angus’ team only has four members. This only increases the boy detective’s enthusiasm.

The setup is a town, being terrorized by an unknown threat from the caves to the west, which has put out a call for mighty heroes to come to their aid. Most of the counselors have been transformed into “NPCs,” as Merle calls them, who can answer questions, dispense rumors, and in some cases keep shop. Merle himself is the “quest-giver” and arbiter of the final success of the campers. Lucas is a referee, making sure the teams refrain from foul play. The team who neutralizes the threat first and returns with evidence of their success to Merle will be proclaimed victorious.

Angus immediately holds an election within his team to nominate a leader and balks when he is unanimously chosen. Under pressure, he is forced to accept the position and takes stock of his team’s abilities. That established, he walks over to the nearest “townsperson” and pulls out a notebook, asking various questions about the threat to the town. He announces that he has a hypothesis and leads his team over to the “barkeep.” Lucas loses track of the boy detective for a while after that as he monitors the other teams, but after about five minutes he hears Angus declare, “Oh! I know what’s in the cave! Let’s go, team, and I think I may have a plan!”

There’s a different referee for the cave segment, but by word of mouth Lucas discerns that Angus’ plan involved a careful recalibration of the goblin- for indeed there were gerblins dwelling in the cave, magical constructs with simplistic programming- traps by the team’s mechanical genius, a half-orc from one of Neverwinter’s suburbs, to trap the goblins in a single room. Then the fighter established a defensive barrier while Angus and Allarie exacted a surrender from the goblin camp. The goblins gave the team a white square of cloth, the victory token from a “Negotiation” ending, to bring to Merle.

Merle takes it with a laugh and declares that a new record has been set for fastest completion of the adventure. Then they sit and waits for the other teams to come in. At some point, two teams had found the goblin’s cave at the same time and elected to join forces to emerge victorious from combat. They return to Merle sharing a red cloth between them, pleased with their camaraderie. 

Lucas is surprised by this outcome. He had expected the two to get in each other’s way, attempting to jostle and sabotage the other out of the competition, arguing over the spoils and such. He says as much to Merle.

“Well, sometimes they do that.” Merle, comfortably overlooking the makeshift town in an enormous lawn chair, scratches his back with his wooden arm. “The interesting thing is that they never win, because they take too long or get disqualified for illegal sabotage. Even when they manage to sabotage each other legally, they usually make such a mess that some other team comes in and sweeps the victory out from under them.”

“That’s not a good simulation,” Lucas says. “In reality one team could wipe the other out entirely without ever dirtying their hands with the goblins and still take home all the glory.”

“Short-term victory,” Merle returns with unquestionable conviction. “Those kinds of parties implode or are defamed, usually within the year. I’ve seen it a million times. Dishonesty buys you no lasting glory and even less happiness.”

Lucas has read the confidential reports, courtesy of Lucretia and with supervision, of the Reclaimers’ time in Wonderland and senses that between the hallucinatory gameshow torture-fest and a hundred worlds in a hundred years, as well as a long dwarven lifespan, Merle might be making his point from experience.

So he doesn’t argue this one, instead turning to watch as Angus and the rest of his team trade stories with the other “adventuring parties” at the shaded gazebo over mugs of cider- because even Merle won’t serve ale to children, if only because that’s wholly illegal.

 

Team Four-Man Band is crowned victorious, Merle lets them roast s’mores, and everyone goes home. Lucas goes back to being in charge of a school as he herds his students onto the Rockport Limited 2.0 out of Neverwinter and Angus geeks out thoroughly, showing his peers where he first met Merle, Taako and Magnus, where the illusionary pleasure room used to be (“I’m sure we can take an educated guess as to why they removed that feature!”), where his then-future mentor threw him out a window. It takes a long time to get the kids settled in their seats.

Angus again elects to sit behind Lucas, and once most of the other kids are sleeping or playing games on their stones of farspeech, he pipes up. “Sir?”

“Yes, Angus?”

“Extreme Teen Adventures was very fun. Thank you for organizing the trip.”

“Uh, no problem, kiddo.”

The eleven-year-old grabs his knapsack to keep it from sliding out into the aisle as they speed around a curve. “I thought you did an excellent job of teaching the Magical Item Use seminars. They were very informative.”

“Even if you had to translate sometimes?”

Angus giggles good-naturedly. “I hope it’s no offense, sir, but it’s a good thing I was in your first group of the day!”

“Right. The rest of the sessions I just quoted you. You probably know this, but you’re a smart cookie, Angus.”

“Well, sir, I am the world’s greatest detective!”

Lucas grins with a pensive fondness. “Huh. Sussing out the existence of a secret quasi-military organization that literally couldn’t exist within the minds of the uninoculated living- at the age of ten? I think you’ve earned the right to call yourself that.”

“Thank you, sir!” Angus beams from ear to ear. He leans back in his seat, pulls a notebook from his pack and begins writing, though Lucas can’t imagine what. They settle into silence for a while, and Lucas leans his head against the window, appreciating the relative quiet.

“Sir?”

“Did you need something else, Angus?”

“Oh, I was just wondering, sir: why did you open our school? You have a stellar reputation as a scientist-I was quite impressed with some of your work, especially since you weren’t much older than I am when you did most of it- and could have lived very comfortably off of your newfound success.” There’s a youthful earnestness and an adult decisiveness in the boy’s face that stirs Lucas to answer.

This question has come out of left field, though- not that Lucas knows much about fantasy baseball, or what the significance of left field might be. “Um… you know, everyone else was off making a difference, right? And I guess I couldn’t just sit in my lab while everyone else made these big sweeping gestures and-” He lurches, the words ringing suddenly false in his own ears. “Ah, shit, that’s not it, is it?”

Angus tilts his head with a quizzical expression, but offers an encouraging smile. “No sir, I suppose it isn’t.”

“Look…” He looks around at the train car full of distracted children, then back at the boy detective. The child prodigy who sits before him, full of wonder.

Lucas sighs. “Okay, can you keep a secret for me, Angus?”

“Of course, sir!” Angus says, lowering his voice to match Lucas. 

“To say that my mother taught me everything I know is… well, it’s basically the entire truth. Everything from my first word to my first thesis paper was her doing. And she was a good teacher. I told her so one day, and she said something about how she might have liked being one if invention hadn’t lured her away. Maybe she’d think about it, she said, when she got old and gray. Which… yeah.

“So I guess… when the Hunger left us, and everyone started building new things, I figured maybe if she wouldn’t get to do it, I could give someone else the chance.”

Angus nods. “I’m glad you did. I like it here. But why is it a secret, sir?”

Lucas stares out the window, watches for a moment as they speed past rolling hills and orderly fields, verdant with summer sprouts. “You can’t tell anyone else what you won’t tell yourself,” he murmurs to the passing rows of corn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Angus steals the show, I wonder who taught him that? ;)  
> You'd have to have a heart of stone not to love Angus McDonald, but I think Lucas looks at the boy and sees his equal and opposite. They're both brilliant, child prodigies, but Angus is friendly and a ray of sunshine, where Lucas is a lonely cynic.   
> That's my interpretation, anyway.


	7. A Post-Travel Dysphoria

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He never expected that he would miss the energy and chaos so much, never thought his own home would be so unwelcoming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did a lot of traveling while I lived in Europe, and a lot of times coming home was... a real downer. So I guess heads up, that's the tone of this (short) chapter. Sorry?

With his students safely returned to his arcane boarding school, Lucas collapses into his desk chair in the admin office and rubs his face with his hands. The paperwork is backed up and his inbox is fuller than ever. Exhausted from the trip, he wishes he could ignore it and get some rest, but he’ll never be able to sleep unless he at least puts a dent in the mountain of paper and parchment.

A single lamp illuminates his desk as he pulls papers before him, reads them in a daze, rereads them, and eventually formulates a response. He does about four of these before giving up and throwing his pen down. Paperwork at half past no-fucks-left is absolutely counterproductive. He gets up and walks out of the office, exiting through a backdoor and calling down an elevator to take him back to the lab.

The elevator ride is quiet, and the lab is silent as ever when he steps out into the tidied airlock. There’s ambient noise, to be sure, loads of it- ticking, humming, whirring of all sorts from various different contraptions, practical and experimental. But it’s all machinery and magic. 

After a solid week of energetic children running and laughing about him, the emptiness is unusually eerie, the solitude oddly oppressive.

Nothing to be done for it. He turns into the residence area and heads straight for the shower, letting the hot water clean the travel grime from his skin. He isn’t one to luxuriate, but for once he lingers a bit in the warmth before climbing out. He’s much calmer now.

He pulls on a ratty pair of gray flannel pants and gives his teeth a good brushing. He wipes the fog from the mirror as he does, and even though he doesn’t have his glasses on, he looks tired even to himself.

The halls are carpeted in the residence area, but Lucas still slips on a pair of woolen socks; temperature regulation in the research labs often leaves this area chilly. He moves to the featureless gray door of his room, his hand on the handle, before he pauses. There’s a moment of hesitation where he finds himself distant, detached from reality and floating in empty space. He lets go of the handle and his body drifts after his mind, down the hall and out of the residency, ghosting along in his sock feet and over to the research wing.

That’s how he finds himself on his knees in the dusty Cosmoscope room, staring blankly at shattered mirrors. 

The demon crystal that tried to swallow the lab is gone, and dust coats the ground in a thick layer, but beyond that the room is unchanged from the last time it was visited over a year ago. A desk in the corner is still piled high with blueprints and sketches. Half of them are his own designs. The others are the work of a hasty woman’s hand.

It takes him a while to register the goosebumps on his bare torso; looking down, he sees his own lanky frame, the pale white skin that barely conceals a bony ribcage. He notes all of this with an almost indifferent objectivity, observes that he has in fact gained some weight while on the field trip. 

He lifts his head once more to stare at the array of broken crystal before him. A clenched pain in his chest clears the fog of detachment from his brain, and then he begins to gasp for air.

It’s somewhere between asphyxiation and nausea, this sensation, and it’s like a void lodged somewhere between his throat and his stomach, a void which threatens to grow and swallow him whole. His ears ring as the background noise of the lab distorts into a buzz, a pestering swarm that berates his mind. 

The room is dimly lit, the light of a single lamp refracting of the various crystalline surfaces, but suddenly the colors are much too bright. A chill runs down his spine, and an indistinct whisper brushes his ear, a tender lament.

Blurry. The room is blurrier now, and his eyes are stinging with a damp heat. A sob catches in his throat, unable to escape the black hole inside of him. Lucas wishes it would just go, wishes the sound would leave his body because it hurts him when it’s stuck in there. 

Wiping his eye with the heel of his hand, he catches a glimpse of himself in a shard of glass on the floor, a pasty-skinned, red-faced, rail-thin figure hunched in on itself and trembling like a leaf in the wind. 

Pathetic. He’s fucking pathetic, he realizes, and then the sound chokes from his mouth. He doubles over, clutches his belly and weeps so hard that his lungs hurt. His abdominal muscles strain with the effort of despair. Gods, he’s so disgusting, a grown man and accomplished scientist crying on the ground like a toddler, wailing for its mother. Wailing for his mother. What people would think if they knew.

The shrink would ask dumb rhetorical questions. Barry would offer some awkward sympathetic back-pats. Lucretia would give him a gentle look of maternal compassion, a look too much like his mother’s own. 

Most people, though? He coughs as the shuddering sobs begin to subside. The ringing in his ears begins to fade, and his breathing slows. People are a fickle manner of beast, he knows. Show them success, and they will follow you eagerly, lapping up your every word. Show them weakness, damage, a world of hurt, and they want no part of it. Hell, they’ll make it your fault. Shouldn’t have done this, should have known better. Shouldn’t have tampered with planar boundaries. Shouldn’t have experimented on a grand relic. Shouldn’t have disobeyed the Bureau.

Got what he deserved.

Lucas lays down on the floor, chilled metal stinging his skin and chastising him for his foolishness, for his damnable weakness.

He’d gotten what he deserved, all right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last downer chapter, I promise!


	8. A Refused Cancellation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a party, and attendance is mandatory for Lucas Miller.

Time is an inscrutable thing when Lucas awakes the next morning, bleary-eyed and unmotivated. The level of light behind his curtains tells him that he’s certainly overslept, but he can’t bring himself to care.

What he does care about is the dryness in his throat, the sandpapery feeling of his tongue inside his mouth and an accompanying headache. He swings his legs over the side of the bed and staggers into the tiny kitchen, pouring himself a glass of water and chugging it down.

Breakfast is probably in order. Or lunch. Who the hell knows. Lucas just isn’t ready to know, so busies himself searching through his meagerly stocked cupboards for something appetizing. He isn’t any more hungry than he normally is on waking, which is to say that he isn’t, but he makes a bowl of oatmeal and forces himself to eat it.

He eats at the counter, slumped against a cabinet. About halfway through his breakfast he notices his stone of farspeech, blinking insistently on the countertop.

There’s a sinking in his stomach. He doesn’t want to talk to anyone, he doesn’t want to go to work, he doesn’t want to sign off on anything. But he’s a prominent academic figure and BoB affiliate, so he cradles the bowl to his chest and presses play on his voicemail.

_“Lucas? I’m surprised you didn’t pick up, it’s eleven o’clock already-”_ Lucas winces. Lucretia had called at eleven. Who knows what time it is now, then. He takes another bite of his oatmeal. _“-anyway, I just wanted to ask if you were bringing more tortilla chips for the BoB mixer tonight? And to make sure you remembered that was tonight. At nineteen hundred hours. Business casual. Don’t be late.”_

Lucas groans. The damn mixer, right. A room full of people, of bureaucrats, lobbyists, visionaries and heroes who would all be gathered in one big ballroom and obligated to socialize for hours on end. He’d rather drink vinegar and owlbear piss.

He rubs his cheeks with his free hand and sighs, reaches over for the stone and calls Lucretia back, putting it on speaker. He’ll eat oatmeal while on the phone with his superior, decorum be damned.

The stone rings twice before Lucretia picks up. “Hello? Lucas?”

“Morning, Lucretia.”

“Morning?” Oh shit. “Lucas, it’s three in the afternoon.”

“Unh…”

“Lucas? Tell me you did not just wake up.”

“It was a long night, Lucretia. I just got back from Merle’s trippy camp and I’m run ragged.”

Her exasperated eye-roll of disbelief is nearly audible. “Okay, well, the mixer’s at nineteen hundred tonight, you can’t be late. Or lacking in chips. Although maybe come early so the bigwigs don’t see you walking in carrying three bags of fantasy Tostitos.”

He sighs. “Actually, Lucretia, I… I don’t really feel up to it.”

“Don’t feel up to it? Are you sick?”

“Well-”

“I didn’t think so,” she cuts him, voice firm. “Lucas, I’ve had several noteworthy politicians and investors nagging me all week about an audience with you, and I promised them you’d be at the mixer. It’s not an option.”

“Madame Di-Lucretia-please, I-” One trip over his words and he can’t regain his verbal balance.

“You won’t want to miss this, anyway, Lup is overseeing refreshments and Barry will be there… well... being a nerd, I suppose. You don’t want to miss Lup’s fabulous cooking, do you?”

“I’m not hungry,” he replies without thinking. He snarls silently at his near-empty bowl of oatmeal.

“You’ve got a few hours, you’ll be fine.”

“I don’t want to eat, okay?” he blurts. He doesn’t know where this damn honesty is coming from, but he knows he doesn’t want to give in. He just wants to win, just this once.

There’s a pause, and her voice is quieter when she responds. “Lucas. Be honest with me. Are you okay?”

It’s his turn to hesitate. “I just had oatmeal for breakfast. So… I’m fine?”

“You also just had breakfast at three in the afternoon.”

“Long night.”

“I’m sorry to ask you to take another one, but we really need you here, Lucas.”

The temperature drops as the thermal controls kick in to regulate the research wing’s atmosphere. He shivers and curses himself for having yet neglected to put on a shirt. “Do you really need me that badly?”

“No, we just can’t get along without those snacks. Of course you need to be here, Lucas, you’re half of the Bureau’s brains all by yourself.”

Another curse, another scowl into his bowl. “Fine. Eighteen thirty with tortilla chips. I’ll be there.”

“I look forward to it, Lucas. And cheer up- Lup’s making baked Alaska for dessert.”

 

Blue button-down shirt, khaki pants. Hair combed, teeth brushed. Stone of farspeech silenced and tucked away in his pocket. Lucas is very reluctantly ready to head to the Bureau of Benevolence Solstice Celebration, which inside the BoB has colloquially and a little sardonically been dubbed “the mixer.” It’s several consecutive hours of rubbing elbows and making pleasantries, something the majority of Bureau members are notoriously awful at doing with the expected level of social grace. 

He takes an elevator down to the Fantasy Food Lion and grabs some chips before summoning a sphere to take him to the venue, a splendid refurbished ballroom in Goldcliff proper. On arrival, the sphere opens to reveal Carey and Killian, wide grins splitting their faces.

“Hey, Nerd One, need a _lift_?”

“Is that an elevator pun, Carey?”

“Bet your ass! Hop in.”

Hop in he does, and they head over to the gathering bearing several grocery bags full of last-minute snack food additions. They help get the long finger-food tables set up and loaded with various hors d'oeuvres and classy munchies. 

“Well, if it isn’t Lucas Miller! Didn’t expect to see you here,” says a gravelly voice from behind him.

“Don’t lie, Merle, you knew he’d be here, why wouldn’t he be?” corrects another, more rumbling voice. When Lucas turns, Magnus Burnsides is grinning from beside the stout dwarf.

“Hello, Magnus. I thought you said if you saw me again you’d-”

The burly fighter gives him a cheeky wink. “Consider this time off for good behavior.”

“I’ll take that over being skewered. Or dis- _armed_.”

“I only do that to robots!”

“And constructs,” Merle amends.

“Them too! Hey, where are all the politicians and stuff?”

“They understand the value of being fashionably late,” is the drawling response from the last Reclaimer, who approaches in a skin-tight gray dress shirt and a short black skirt with silver trim. “Though none of you chucklefucks would know fashionable if it jumped on your dick and went down with a vengeance.”

“Thank you, Taako, for that tasteful mental image,” says his tall, dark and handsome date.

“Shut up, Krav, you’re just hoping to be the one getting jumped later,” retorts the golden-haired elf. His boyfriend’s deep blush is evident even behind his ebony skin.

“Good evening, Taako,” Lucas interjects, “and to you as well, Mr. Kravitz. I don’t believe we’ve, ah, been properly introduced?” He extends his hand politely, and Kravitz gives it a hearty and frigid shake. If it weren’t for the temperature, Lucas might have forgotten he was addressing the Grim Reaper in person.

“Well, I was quite busy when last we met, and these...gentleman… commanded most of my attention,” is Kravitz’ elegant response.

“Damn right,” Taako hums, giving his boyfriend a flirtatious eyebrow-waggling.

“Hang on,” Magnus cuts in. “Taako, I thought you were on tour and couldn’t make it?”

“Made an unscheduled stop, buckaroo, couldn’t miss the opportunity to grace high society with my venerable presence.”

“You should probably go let Lup know you’re here, then,” Merle says pointedly.

“Oh, yeah, let me at those kitchens! Outta my way, the Wonder Twins are gonna blow your fucking minds.”

“What about me?” Kravitz hollers after him as people start to filter into the room.

“Make some friends, bubeleh!”

“What about high society?” Magnus jibes.

“They can kiss my fantastic elven ass!” 

Kravitz sighs and tugs at his tie. “Business casual” is apparently not a part of his vocabulary. “I really don’t like socializing with the living very much.”

“I can understand that,” Lucas mutters heavily.

“As soon as they realize they’re talking to an agent of the Raven Queen, they tend to either clam up or become overbearingly polite,” Kravitz laments. “It’s so hard to have a normal conversation.”

Some of the high society which Taako has so recently scorned begins to find their way over to them, and the mingling officially begins. What ensues is over an hour of formal introductions, forced smiles, and feigned interest. Lucas is singled out for several “urgent discussions” and “matters of interest,” generally pertaining to his family’s inventions or the operation of his arcane academy.

At half-past twenty hundred hours, it is revealed by the arrival of several food-laden carts heading toward the confection table that baked Alaska isn’t the only thing Lup has prepared for dessert. Tarts, macarons and various pastries soon adorn the once-empty table space. Lucas obligingly samples the array, and finds himself partial to a cinnamon-filled twist of bread covered with a sweet glaze and chopped nuts.

Barry, button-down collared shirt tucked neatly into his signature denim, catches up to him at this point. “Hey, buddy. How’s the party?”

“Exhausting,” Lucas confesses.

“You’re a popular guy tonight,” Barry agrees. “Whatcha eating?”

“I have no idea what it’s called. It’s cinnamon-y.”

Barry looks over the pastry. “Hm. Dunno. I could ask Lup, when she gets out here.”

“She’ll be joining us?”

“Lup loves the kitchen, but she also loves being the center of attention. And compliments. She’ll be coming after both,” her husband says with a laugh.

“Speaking of,” Lucas says with an indicative tilt of the head. It’s unnecessary because the kitchen doors have just burst open, thrown wide with great aplomb to reveal to two identical freckled faces, beaming wide and demanding the attention of the room, which they receive with smug satisfaction. 

“All hail the Taaco Twins!” 

“Celebrity personalities-”

“-fashion icons-”

“-and culinary legends!”

“No need to applaud, really! That’s a lie, please, go on, let’s have a big hand.”

In a corner, standing next to Lord Artemis Sterling, Lucretia sighs and lowers her face into her hand, shaking it in exasperation. Barry chuckles to himself, and Lucas catches sight of Kravitz’ dignity and poise melting from his person merely by association.

 

If nothing else, Lucas must admit that the party really livens up once the elf twins take hold of the room. At once charming and off-putting, their antics dissolve some of the tense formality and take a bit of the social pressure off of the tiring Lucas.

Yet he still manages to lose track of time, people and faces blurring into each other. Pressure builds behind his eyes, and he wants nothing more than to lay down and and sleep for a week- never mind that he slept all morning and much of the afternoon. He knows he’ll be expected to remember all of these ostensibly important conversations, and knows he won’t remember half.

Towards the end of the night Lucretia gets up and makes a speech. It’s some obligatory bit about how she’s happy everyone could be here, thanks for coming, look forward to our continued cooperation. That sort of thing. The sweets in Lucas’ stomach begin to churn, even though he really only had two or three. It’s late, he’s tired, he’s sick of people. 

Lucretia finishes her speech and lets everyone go. Guests begin filtering out the door, some more gracefully than others, and others foregoing physical doors in favor of ripping holes in the fabric of reality.

This leaves a few scattered members of the good old BoB lingering and helping to get the place cleaned up. Carey makes a show of flipping the dishware into the air and catching them in a stack, Killian sliding easily between pulling utensils from the table and surreptitiously making sure her wife doesn’t drop anything breakable. They load the dishes into an enchanted cart floating alongside of them and make short work of the task. Magnus assists by ensuring there are no leftovers.

“Good evening, Lucas. Are you enjoying yourself this vibrant night?”

The inventor turns and tries not to groan aloud. “Bates, hey. That’s kind of a pointed question, coming from you, isn’t it?”

“A mere pleasantry,” Bates insists.

“Right.”

“You seem disinclined to speak with me now. Are you perhaps fatigued-”

“Am I? You think?” Lucas cuts him off, seized by brazen sardonicism. “Gods, I didn’t sleep a wink last night and have spent the last four, five hours doing nothing but talking to insufferable bureaucrats! You’re right! I’m fucking tired!” He turns and walks over to an empty table, balls his fists on the edge of it and fumes impotently.

Bates remains in place but folds his arm across his chest. “I’m considering adding ‘passive-aggressive’ to your list of character traits.”

Lucas throws his hands up in the air. “Isn’t that just great? Just dandy, Doc. I love being told there’s something else wrong with me personally every time I see you!”

“I’m beginning to suspect that you have a complex regarding me in particular. You held up patiently with the various officials you spoke with tonight and even seemed to be enjoying yourself around the other Bureau members.”

The room, already oddly quiet from the absence of guests, grows quieter still as Lucas’ co-workers become his audience. His face burns in shame, a feeling he’s experienced more and more often lately. He grits his teeth and snarls.

“The Bureau isn’t constantly psychoanalyzing me and listing off my faults! I’m a cynical, egotistical asshole with mommy issues! Thanks for stating the fucking obvious, Doc!” He’s shouting now, spinning out of control. “I summoned fiery tendrils to exact retribution a bunch of second-graders without regret! I performed unethical research on a Grand Relic and almost crystallized the fucking planet! I brainwashed furry sentient beings and almost loosed every single soul in the Eternal Stockade out of pure selfishness! Who’s even surprised? I’ve never done shit out of the kindness of my heart! _Big deal_.” 

He stands there, fists clenches at his sides, glaring at Bates with his teeth bared. He’s waiting for the shrink to say something, anything, that will justify a blow. He can feel a dozen pairs of eyes on him, witnesses shocked into silence.

And then he hears a slow clap from the corner. Everyone turns in surprise to look at Merle, a mocking glint in his eyes.

“Way to earn your name, Dickhead. You know, you got a real way with words?” His tone is biting, harsh. “Never heard someone talk for so long while missing the whole fucking point.”

“And what point would that be?” Lucas hisses acidly.

“You paid him to psychoanalyze you, dumbass!” 

Lucas blinks into a seemingly endless silence. Then he giggles. Then those giggles mount into fits of laughter, which a few of the others nervously join in. Then he devolves into hysteria, clutching his stomach and holding onto the table for support. Tears stream from his eyes as he chortles and guffaws from deep in his belly, and now the whole room is in uproarious gales of laughter.

“Technically-” Lucas splutters, gasping for breath. “Technically the Bureau pays for those visits.”

“Big difference,” is Magnus’ cackling reply.

“Lucas _is_ the Bureau! Truth comes out!’ Carey declares. Lucas’ abs hurt from laughing so much, but he can’t bring himself to care. He doesn’t care a bit.

For once, it’s a good feeling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter alternately titled "Taako Makes an Unexpected Cameo Appearance Because He's a Diva and Can't Stay Away So I Guess He's a Character Now."  
> No seriously, he wasn't supposed to be in this work. But he wouldn't leave me alone until I wrote him some show-stealing scenes. He left me no choice.  
> Also, Merle Saves the Day.


	9. A Friendly Gathering

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barry extends an invitation, and Lucas accepts on implied threat of death from Lup.

_“Hey buddy, heard about what happened last night after we left. I’m sorry we ran out so soon, we didn’t mean to leave you high and dry. Lup and I, uh, we’d like to have you over for dinner tomorrow. Or tonight if you want, but I figure you maybe just want a day to yourself to get things done? Just let us know-”_ There’s a shuffling sound, like someone being pushed out of the way, and a different voice cuts in. _“And don’t even think about saying no! I’m gonna fatten you up like a Candlenights pig, mark my words, nerd!”_ The message ends abruptly on that note.

Lucas shakes his head and smiles. It sounds as though Lup has left him no choice, unless he wants her to pop into his lab and roast him physically and verbally for crossing her. So he calls them back and accepts their invitation. 

It leaves him with a strange feeling. Sure, Barry is just a nice guy in general, but… Lucas gets the feeling that he really cares about him. And the heir of the widely-reputed Miller name is not used to this coming from anyone he isn’t related to, a zero-population category for about a year now.

Barry is his friend. So, he supposes, is Lup. The fact that this isn’t the first time he’s eaten at the Bluejeans home tells him that these people want to spend time with him just because they enjoy being around him, and he honestly doesn’t know how to deal with that.

He mulls over this as he performs routine maintenance on the atmospheric controls in the research wing. If Barry and Lup are his friends, then so is Lucretia, who mother-hens him about remembering to eat and make his appointments on time. So is Merle, who brusquely offers nuggets of wisdom wrapped in layers of teasing and insult. 

That’s four friends. Four more than he’s ever had in his entire life. It’s bizarre, but not unpleasant.

He gets up and dusts off his knees. Enough of this. He has work to do before this evening, mostly of the paper variety. 

Exciting stuff, as always.

 

Barry comes to get him, because the home he shares with Lup is a little extra-dimensional. The air is already richly scented with the promise of something spicy. His stomach gives a rumble, surprising him, even though he hasn’t eaten since yesterday.

His escort gives him a grin. “Hungry, bud?”

“Sure am,” Lucas says, trying to keep his tone level.

“Good. Lup’s made a killer southwestern chicken alfredo.”

“Is that the vore scientist?” Lup shouts from the kitchen.

“How many times, Lup-”

“Yeah, it is!” Barry answers her. Lucas shoots him a dirty look, and they sit down at the dining room table situated just beyond the limits of the kitchen, so Lup can be part of the conversation without the two culinary incompetents getting in her way.

“How’re things at the ol’ school, Miller? We all get plenty of letters from Ango but he’d be happy learning out of blown-out trailer at the bottom of a landfill, long as he had his books,” Lup asks.

Lucas blows a breath out through his nose. “Administration is… not my strong point.”

“That why you got so many busty secretaries?”

“Huh!?”

“Lup!” Barry cries in exasperation.

“Oh come on, Barold, don’t pretend you weren’t looking. Cause if you weren’t, I’m officially the smarter half of this whole.”

Barry gets red in the face. “Well-”

“What’s that one girl’s name? Jocanie? Big eyes, glasses, always wears the cute skirts? Wouldn’t kick her out of bed.”

Barry folds his arms. “You’re trying to make me get myself in trouble, and I’m not falling for it.”

“Oh, Barold.” She takes a break from what she’s doing to cross the room, lean over and take his chin in her hand, her lips an inch from his. “You’ll fall for anything I say.” 

His eyes go wide as she presses her body against his, a slight daze slackening his features. “Uh, Lup, babe…”

She flashes a sensuous grin at him as she pulls away abruptly and returns to the stove, her hips swaying fluidly.

Lucas takes one look at the afflicted Barry and laughs, causing his fellow scientist to regain his senses and blush with embarrassment.

“Don’t think you’re off the hook, Miller, you still have some ‘splaining to do.”

“Huh?”

She turns to lift a brow at him over her shoulder. “Busty. Secretaries.”

“Oh. Well- I have plenty of male employees, too! Lots of non-women work at the academy.”

“Mm-hmm. Whatever you’re into.”

A strangled noise comes from his throat. “I-!”

Now it’s Barry’s turn to laugh at his fellow’s predicament, while Lucas splutters helplessly in confusion and panic. Lup gives a short bark of laughter and reaches for the paprika. She opens her mouth to speak but is cut off by a tell-tale ripping sound, causing her to roll her eyes as her mirror image swaggers ostentatiously into the kitchen.

“I smell cumin and cayenne, Krav, seems my timing is impeccable as always- oh,” he says with a pause, noticing who was seated next to Barry at the table. “Guess the Nerd Herd was planning on eating without us, babe.”

“Well,” Barry points out, “Lucas was actually _invited_ to join us this evening.”

“Please, Barold, I’m Taako from TV. I have a standing invitation to all events and choice locales.” He seats himself with a flourish in the chair which Kravitz has pulled out for him.

“You heard him, Casa Bluejeans is a choice locale!” Lup trills.

“Like hell, all I’m saying is that no one in their right mind would turn away this much star power. Right, Elevator Man? Vore King? Mr. Elevore?”

“I think it’s best if I stay out of this one,” Lucas says, hands in the air. These two have never popped over while Lucas was here, but from Barry and Lup’s reactions he can guess that this sort of unannounced arrival is nothing out of the ordinary.

“Cow-ard,” Taako returns lazily.

“Brother mine, every time we go anywhere you insist that you’re ‘good out here.’”

“Worked out well for me, hasn’t it?”

“Taako, love, you’ve died nineteen times,” Kravitz reminds him.

“Still fewer than Magnus or Merle, I count that as a win.”

“What is that like?” The words are out of Lucas’ mouth before he can stop them. There’s a heartbeat of silence where he realizes he’s the only one in the room who has never died, but then Taako gives a nonchalant shrug.

“Depends how you go out, my dude. I would recommend explosions, because it’s hella badass and doesn’t really hurt any.”

“I’m with Koko, fast and furious is the way to go. Speaking of, get in here and help me serve these up.”

“Got it, sis.” He swings his legs off of Kravitz’ lap and saunters over to the counter.

Barry looks sympathetically awkward. “I mean… when you die a lot, you kind of get used to it? Doesn’t make it pleasant, but it loses the uncertainty factor.”

Kravitz looks serious, a thoughtful expression on his face. “My life was a long time ago, and I can’t say I remember much of it. I don’t really remember dying. But I’ve helped a lot of people go, and I will say that the easiest ones aren’t the people who died in their sleep. It’s the ones who’ve achieved their purpose.”

“Purpose?” Lucas says, trying not to scoff. “What do you mean by that?”

“For some, it’s a cause, the sacrifice their own life to defend their beliefs. Others just want to die staring at the faces that remind them of what made their life worth living. People want to know that they left something good behind in the hearts of those they love.”

“Boy howdy, this smells like some good shit,” Taako declares as he sets forks and napkins on the table. Lup follows behind him with heaping, tastefully garnished plates of food.

The twins settle in their places and everyone digs in. “Mm, babe, this _is_ the shit,” Barry remarks through a mouthful of food. Lup giggles at the bit of alfredo already smeared on the corner of his mouth.

“Yeah, Lulu, this stuff is ten out of ten for consistency. Think you went a little overboard on the cayenne, though.”

“Like hell, you can never have things _too_ spicy.” She shoots Barry a wink, causing him to choke slightly in an attempt to swallow.

“It is indisputable fact that you _can_ ,” her brother retorts. “Also, gross.”

“I’m with Taako,” Lucas chimes in, surprising himself. “About the spice. If I can feel it in my digestive system from beginning to end, it’s way too hot.”

Barry looks surprised at even this level of crudeness from his research partner, but Lup throws her head back and cackles. “Too bad, geek, you’re gonna spend tomorrow crying on the shitter. You’re fucking welcome.”

“If that’s true, Lulu, I am going to personally kick your ass.”

“You got nothing to worry about, bro-bro, you’re constitution’s good enough to handle it.”

“True, because I’m not a total loser.”

“Hey!” Lucas cries. 

“Well, I’m not. I won’t speak for you, dweeb. Taako’s not a soft boy.”

“Aren’t you?” Kravitz counters quietly. “So who was the elf who spent three weeks and half of his monthly salary buying a certain boy detective Candlenights presents _in July?_ ”

Taako’s ears turn bright red. “I like to be prepared!”

“No you don’t,” Barry interjects. “You’ll procrastinate until the last possible second. One year you didn’t even have anything for Lup until Candlenights Eve. And back on the homeworld the both of you submitted your Starblaster crew applications forty-six seconds before the deadline closed. The _second_ deadline. The one they extended specifically for you guys.”

Taako harumphs indignantly while Lup examines and flaunts her red-tipped fingernails self-assuredly. “And they’d have extended it another time if I had to _convince_ them again.”

“You’re lucky the exact method of your convincing never made your dossiers,” Barry prods.

“They’d have taken us anyway, who wouldn’t.”

“All of this is a digression from the point,” Lucas cuts in. When all eyes have turned to him, he grins. “Taako is clearly distracting one of my best pupils from his studies.”

“He’s my apprentice, jackass, nothing I tell him is a distraction!” Taako’s words are both defensive and venomless.

“Don’t think I haven’t noticed that not only does Angus McDonald remove more mail than the rest of his classmates combined, but more than half of that mail is from-”

“Old ladies who’ve lost their glasses! Little girls with missing kittens! Incompetent police officers! Right? Right?”

“-from none other than T-”

“Tiny amnesiacs wondering where all the cookies went?”

“Taako the Wizard,” Lucas finishes.

“Like you would know, you probably can’t even read,” the transmuter pouts.

 

Lucas is surprised to find that it’s yet another late night for him, even more surprised to find that he doesn’t mind. An attempt is made at some point to play a game of fantasy Monopoly, during which it’s discovered that neither of the twins is honest enough to play money-based board games, but not before the duo own the entire board and every penny of wealth between them and the two are entrenched in a calculated real estate stalemate.

Kravitz holds Taako in his lap, leaning his head sleepily on his boyfriend’s. Barry is reclining against the couch and braiding Lup’s hair. Lucas is the keeper of a barren bank. 

After one yawn to many from Kravitz, Taako looks up him and rolls his eyes. “Okay, fine, we’ll blow this joint.”

“You’re quitting? Forfeiting? Conceding?” Lup perks up, a savage light reanimating her eyes.

“Fuck no, sis, we’re putting this shit on hold. I’ll be right back here tomorrow ready to kick your ass.”

“You’d better be here, Koko, cause I won’t rest until I’ve drained every cent of your measly funds.”

“I’ll show you measly-”

“Come on, love,” Kravitz murmurs, planting a kiss on Taako’s cheek. “Home. Bed. Please?’

Taako turns and flashes him a sly grin. “Well, how can I say no to going to bed with a hunk like you?” Kravitz just laughs and pulls him up.

Lup and Barry get up and hug their brother good night, and Kravitz receives a stern reminder not to let Taako chicken out on his and Lup’s Monopoly game or she’d give him hell, so help her Pan.

“Yeah, yeah,” Taako says with a dismissive wave of his hand. “See ya tomorrow. Peace, Miller.”

“Good night, Taako, Kravitz.”

“Good night, Lucas,” Kravitz says with a nod. “I’m glad we picked tonight to come over. It was good to see you again.”

“Come on,” Taako says, tugging on Kravitz’ arm. “You’re the one who wanted to go!”

Kravitz laughs and opens a portal for them, and together they make the return to their own house.

Barry stretches and yawns. “Shit, it is getting late. You’re probably ready to head home too, huh, Lucas?”

“I’ve got work in the morning, so probably.” 

“Spread my praises far and wide,” Lup yawns. “See ya later.”

“Bye, Lup.”

Barry takes his arm and drops him off in the kitchen area of the lab. “Take care, bud. Let me know when you’ve got more free time for research.”

“Will do. Good night, Barry.”

The portal closes, and Lucas heads off to bed, tired and content and two friends richer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since he butted into the last chapter, I needed to find something to do with Taako. So he makes another unannounced arrival. Are we even surprised by this anymore?  
> The next chapter will be the last! So much thanks to the people who've stuck with it this far!


	10. A Broken Silence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucas takes time to reflect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's really short (especially after that long previous chapter), but it's a wrap-up. Please keep your hands and feet inside the vehicle as we approach the end of this ride.

Lucas pulls the door shut behind him, as always. “Bates. Bet you didn’t think you’d see me again.”

“Why’s that?” Bates asks as he rises from his desk in the corner.

“Because… I was flagrantly hostile at the Solstice Celebration?’ Lucas suggests sheepishly.

Bates shakes his head. “The fault was all mine. I saw that you were upset and wanted to help, but I misread the situation and became provocative instead. No, worse: I couldn’t stop myself from trying to do my job, even when it wasn’t appropriate. I’m truly sorry about that, Lucas.”

“Oh. Really?” Lucas scratches his head. “I kinda thought you planned it or something?”

Now the psychiatrist looks concerned and tentatively miffed. “Why would you suspect that I intended to upset you?”

“No, not that. I kinda figured you knew it would work. Making me feel better.”

“Elaborate,” Bates says as Lucas takes his seat. “What is it you think I did?”

“You… I dunno. You made me flip out in front of my co-workers, made me be… vulnerable, I guess, is how I felt. And then they were there for me. And that’s when I realized they were my friends.”

“Ah.” Bates smiles. “You presume that I knew something you didn’t. Flattering, but unfortunately that was not the case.”

“Oh.” Lucas scratches his head. “Huh. Well, it helped. So, thanks.”

“It sounds to me like I’m not the one you mean to thank. Since your friends are not here, you might start with yourself.”

“Me? Why?”

“For letting yourself be loved.”

Lucas sighs and lays himself down, settling himself more comfortably. “Okay, it’s your turn to explain yourself.”

Bates smiles. “When you made your first visit here, you were one of the loneliest men I had ever seen. You spent a lifetime pulling back from others, believing that you had all you needed. When suddenly, a year ago, you didn’t, it affected you, did it not?”

“No shit,” Lucas mutters, hand on his forehead. He opens his mouth, preventing Bates’ continuation, but there’s a beat before he speaks. “It was so quiet. All the time. Mom and I weren’t rowdy people, but suddenly I missed the sound of her pencil scratching or her frustrated sigh as she works out an equation. It was…”

 

Lucas sat at the desk in the study, crunching numbers as he stared a sheet of finances. He took off his glasses and leaned over at an item, then tilted his chair back and turned his head in the direction of the hallway. “Hey, what did we ever do with that box of iron fil-”

His voice echoed down the hall, and silence was returned. Damn it. He stared for a moment, then huffed and made a mark on the inventory, his composure shattered.

This happened all the time for about two months. Even after he stopped asking questions of someone who wasn’t there anymore, he would pose random queries to the air, suddenly overcome with the urge to fill the void.

His appetite dwindled slowly. He skipped breakfast, sometimes after skipping dinner the night before. Never a thick-set person, he struggled to maintain his weight, but there were some days he knew he wouldn’t be able to eat if he didn’t want to throw up. He tried though, because he still had to appear in public and sometimes he even ran into Lucretia, who would kill him if she found out. She seemed to suspect enough already. 

Six months after he had lost his mother for good, he started spending all of his time at the school. A workaholic from youth, it had always been more or less in isolation. Why that isolation no longer appealed to him, he didn’t know, but now he was conducting interviews and appointing faculty and attending board meetings all the time. Sometimes he fell asleep at his office desk, waking up and returning to whatever task was at hand without pause. One of the administrative interns would usually leave a cup of coffee and a sandwich on his desk as soon as he left for a bathroom break.

That lasted all of two months, until he passed a couple of older students talking about the Grand Relics. 

“They were a blight! They were forces of destruction and that’s that!” one insisted vehemently.

“Don’t good intentions count for anything?” implored the other.

“Good intentions don’t make up for any destruction they cause! If you’ve got more collateral damage than good deeds, you’ve fucked up roy- oh, hello, Mr. Miller!”

Lucas went back to the floating lab that night in a daze, turning the day’s date over in his mind. It was almost a year to the day since he brought the Philosopher’s Stone up here. He had only wanted to make his mother happy. Instead he had gotten her killed, crystallized the lab and jeopardized the safety of the planet, and caused a jailbreak of the restless dead from the Eternal Stockade- and lost his mother a second time for it. He hadn’t wanted any of that. But it didn’t matter. His intentions didn’t mean shit.

It took him a week to lose all the weight he’d gained back over the course of the last two months. He showed up to the school less often, met governors and lords with bags under his eyes. And he took for granted that this was all his life would ever be.

 

Bates listens intently, as he always does, but he doesn’t have his notepad out this time. When Lucas finishes, he nods thoughtfully. “So what has changed?”

Lucas stares at the ceiling for a while, pondering the question. What had changed? What was the difference between the Lucas who force-fed himself oatmeal in the morning and tried not to vomit and the Lucas who hung out until way too late with his friends on a Monday night, shoveling Lup’s spicy cuisine into his gullet and jumping in on his companions’ back-and-forth banter? He wasn’t okay yet, not by a long shot, but what had caused the gaping hole in his heart to quit bleeding and begin to knit back together around the edges?

He tilts his head at the ceiling. “It’s not so quiet anymore.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it, folks!  
> Another big thanks to those of you who saw it through to the end, and that much-appreciated handful of positive comments which made my day. This was really cathartic to write and if you enjoyed it even half as much as I did, then you're welcome, because you had a great time. ;)  
> I don't know for sure what I'm going to do next, but it will probably involve Angus. I probably won't get to start it for a while, since I'm moving, but I'll have plenty of time to think on it, I guess! So there may be that to look forward to in a month or so.  
> Keep writing, keep reading, keep having fun.


End file.
